


I dig you

by thxws (monaps)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Getting rid of the body, Killing, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 14:32:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2584790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monaps/pseuds/thxws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>tumblr prompt: imagine your otp meeting each other for the first time, at night, in the woods, while both trying to dispose of their freshly killed corpses</p>
<p>Set of 3 drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I dig you

The night was dark and silent. Dead silent. The cold, crisp air bit at the tip of his nose and cheeks, his wet with blood fingers feeling the chill bone deep. Stiles huffed and paused in his efforts, dropping a lifeless leg at the leaves covered ground. It fell softly, with no sound. If only he had the luxury of feeling proud of what he had done. But even with things being just and inevitable, that small voice in his mind—the one that sounded so much like Scott and his dad—made him feel guilty. Not enough to go back and confess or to even want to change what happened, no regret there, but enough for his mind to buzz unpleasantly and keep tripping him up with ‘you could’ve let someone else take care of it’. They said, a guilty conscience ate people alive. Stiles believed it may drive him insane instead. Eventually.  
  
  
Quick look at the trunk, breath in and breath out. Stiles kept his heart steady, no panic. He tried to. Mostly had that shit under control. With or without a reminder, Stiles knew too much about how to get away with murder than necessary healthy. His dad—damn, he really didn’t want to do this to him. His dad deserved better. His dad deserved a son like Scott.  
  
His eyes slid to Matt’s dead ones. Absently, bored. The blood covered the left side of his face, hair glued to the open wound. In the strangest way Stiles found that suiting, almost beautiful. Of course, beautiful it was not. Matt was the creepiest piece of shit Stiles could remember from the high school, surpassing even Jackson and his charming personality. That said it all.  
  
There were times, back then, when he’d sit outside waiting for Scott and see Matt taking pictures. Regularly. Following them around. His camera forever pointed in the same direction, the objective moving as Scott and Allison walked towards the parking lot. He wondered time after time if Matt’s fascination with Allison came out of professional curiosity or his interest ran the other way.  
  
He dismissed him, of course. Pretended the danger he saw was nothing but his vivid imagination playing tricks on him. Just a thought nagging on him like many others he had no use of. It was all in his head. His hyperactive mind full of buzzing—forever vigilant, forever searching for a threat out of habit.  
  
Now, with the bastard in question very dead, and his body left to take care of, Stiles wondered when exactly everything went from a mere suspicion to—to this, a dead body and him being in the woods at 2am in the morning, searching for the perfect spot to dump it. He used all his luck just surviving the school this past four years and maybe he needed to call Lydia. Stiles, better than anyone, knew how bad his ability to focus was. Still. He didn’t want to tell anyone about this. Especially not someone that smart. Things like secrets always came back to fuck shit up if shared.  
  
He took a breath. A slow, measuring one. Patiently leaning down to wind a cling wrap around Matt’s head, layer after layer. Even in death, the guy continued to piss him off and make a mess. At least his car wasn’t a problem. After driving Jackson’s drunk ass from party to party a few months back—and making a mistake of letting him eat in the car, dear God, puke ended in corners he last cleaned pretty much never—he taped the trunk over with garbage bags and made sure that it was puke resistant. Having no time to get rid of that set up came in handy for carting the dead body away. Bless his laziness.  
  
Stiles finished his task with a flourish, tying a perfect little knot around the stiff neck. Focusing on simple tasks, one by one, helped to keep his thoughts in check. Also, covering every inch of blood allowed him to feel safe. Calm mind made no mistakes. It should’ve worried him how calculated this whole circus turned out being but leaving a trail got people caught. Anything he could do to prevent that counted like a good thing. Cold blooded or not. And, with Matt happily mummified in a cling wrap—with garbage bags taken down and expertly wrapped in a ball and tied to one of Matt’s arms—Stiles closed the trunk and decided that yes, it was finally time to put the creepy fucker in the ground.  
  
In all the reports he read over the years, no one ever mentioned anything about how not fun dragging a dead body through the woods was. Very not fun. Extremely so. All movies were lies. His whole life was a lie. He felt lied to. Severely lied to. He should definitely write a manual about handling the pressure and dealing with the unplanned murder when there is no one close you hate enough to pin it on to.  
  
Seriously.  
  
Tugging Matt out of the trunk and getting him on the ground seemed like nothing. Tug at the leg hard enough and bam, let the body fall.  
  
The things that came after though…  
  
At first he couldn’t get a firm grip on the body to even lift it, then when he mastered that part—a cheer fest and stubbing the toe on the log later—he realized that maybe he should’ve put more hours in the gym. It appeared that carrying someone from the door to the bed is easy enough but dead weight—yeah, guess again, nothing easy or light about that shit.  
  
Then, as expected, the ground turned into another challenge. Slippery death trap.  
  
On a good day, he tripped over his own feet, but let him frolic around the woods in the middle of the night and hello—faceplanting champion. He fell and scrapped his chin few steps in. Palms and nails covered in dirt and moss just added another touch of reality to his lousy night. As if that wasn’t enough, he almost lost the shovel more than once. Even Matt’s shoe tried to take a hike. For a fun of it, probably. Stiles had to walk back to pick it up and get in on. He stopped counting how many trees he hip checked in process but it felt like a lot. Everything was pain and everything hurt. Maybe with dozens of bruises as a reminder he won’t try to kill another person anytime soon.  
  
So, the whole torrid affair of dragging the body through the woods? Not his best idea. If only he thought about melting Matt in the barrel first.  
  
Stiles paused when the branch snapped somewhere close by. The vein in his forehead throbbed. All the stress and, consequentially, fear, turned that smallest sound into the scariest one ever. Alright, maybe he was a bit paranoid. A teeny, tiny bit paranoid. Possibly even a good amount of paranoid. His instincts were usually spot on. Like, half the time maybe. Seventy percent?  
  
Counting to ten, he adjusted his grip on Matt’s back and continued on, refusing to ask for trouble where there was none. Nothing to worry about. Absolutely nothing. After all, the hunting season was over, and no hiker would willy-nilly follow the trails in the dark. No one had any reason to walk around the woods with a freaking mountain lions population growing. Except for him. Of course. Because he had a death wish. And a dead body. _Fuck his life._  
  
There was another little sound at his left. Probably an owl or some small critter. Stiles did hear about a fox or two. The hikers sighted them a month back. All good. No worries at—  
  
Another branch crunched, closer than the last, and this time Stiles froze. his heartbeat picked up and he cursed.  
  
He reasoned it could be nothing. His mind on the other hand not so helpfully supplied that it also could very well be everything. Stiles nodded to himself, picked the safest thought, trying hard not to think about the worst case scenario.  
  
But.  
  
 _If one was an accident and two was a coincidence, then three…_  
  
He couldn’t afford to think that way. His dad still needed him. If he had to kill another person—well, he did have a shovel ready and enough time before dawn.  
  
But he really, really didn’t want to.

**Author's Note:**

> if you want to talk or take over the world, you can also find me on [tumblr](http://thxws.tumblr.com)


End file.
